


9.2

by portonroblavski



Category: Hip Hop RPF
Genre: M/M, pair so rare it doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9348290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portonroblavski/pseuds/portonroblavski
Summary: A romance based out of opposite ends of the country stacked on top of constant travel makes it a real challenge to pinpoint the idea of "home."





	

**Author's Note:**

> watsky and hot sugar would make a dream team. i love them together and i love this idea.
> 
> shoutout to kerrison for indoctrinating me.

Homesickness is something they occasionally struggle with both while on and off the road. A romance based out of opposite ends of the country stacked on top of constant travel makes it a real challenge to pinpoint the idea of "home." However, the two find home in one another. Home to the other even despite the fact that they're from different coasts and hail from cities with different mindsets. Their hometowns are just as different as they are from each other, but they're home all the same.  
  
Homesickness strikes mostly when they're separated from one another and both far away from any place they call home. To George, the definition of home varies between San Francisco, New York City, and the arms of Nick Koenig. Nick's idea of home is almost one and the same as George's. And even when they're in a city far away from both coasts of the United States, they still have each other, perfectly at home in the comfort of one another.   
  
George Watsky comes from California, but sometimes it doesn't feel like such. He's got a cool type of calm about him, while also being the opposite of just that. Then there are times where he's loud and bright and radiant and he feels more like New York City than he does San Francisco.   
  
Nick Koenig comes from the city that never sleeps, fits the description of the city only intermittently when he is just as nonstop and sleep deprived. But Nick also has an air about him that's reminiscent of cold, foggy San Francisco mornings rather than much of New York City at all.   
  
Nick Koenig loves like the soft breeze in San Francisco. Fingers gentle and nimble, their touch barely there, Nick's hands brush softly against George's skin and it's so much like feeling the caress of the wind. Nick moves like the fog, slow rolling and unpredictable. His soft eyes remind George of the bay's overcast skies and he swears he could get lost in them,  so, _so_ easily. It's over when Nick's lips press to his own, make their way down his jaw and to his neck. Kisses that feel just like warmth of the sun emerging from the blanket of fog. Nick's love embodies San Francisco so perfectly. So much that George isn't sure he'll ever miss his actual home ever again.   
  
George Watsky loves like the demanding nature of New York City. Pulls Nick close, breathes hot against his neck and suddenly it feels like a midsummer night in the city. Sometimes their teeth clash when they kiss and it reminds Nick of the footsteps on dirty gray sidewalks. A kiss at George's neck and Nick feels his lover's heartbeat stronger than that of the city, quick and erratic. George murmurs, whispers, moans under his breath and it's all beautiful and somehow reminds Nick of the sounds he captures and keeps. George sounds like the breeze in late spring when he gasps and sighs. Sounds like the distant crash of water on the shore each time he tilts his head and arches his back against the crisp fabric of the bed sheets. Nick misses home sometimes, but George makes him forget.   
  
It's on the night that their separate tours finally converge where they lie together past the latest hours, blissful and at peace. Far enough from both cities they call home, they lie entwined, grateful for the opportunity touring seldom grants them. George rests his head on Nick's chest, listens to the thump of his heart, the way his lungs draw in each breath. It reminds George of all the stray sounds Nick records and turns into sweet symphonies. Nick's fingers go to card through his messy hair, flattens his hand against George's head when he feels the velvet-like fuzz of George's recently shaved hair instead. Nick sighs contently, slips his other hand low and delicate on the small of George's back.   
  
Nick stares absently at the ceiling of their hotel room, admires the way the dim yellow glow is interrupted and stopped altogether by the solid black shadow cast by the blinds. He listens to George breathe, observes how uneven and shaky it still is, how it complements the soft tap of George's fingertips against his chest, and the distant hum of the air conditioning. It all makes Nick wish his recording device wasn't stored away in the pocket of his jacket all the way across the room. He's sure George is perhaps the most sonically interesting person he's ever met, intentional or not.   
  
The night is balmy, nearly bordering muggy, but they lie pressed together under the thin veil of a hotel bed sheet. The colors of the room and the glow that comes through the window are just as warm as the space between them and all of it screams _Arizona_. It should feel like the middle of nowhere, but it doesn't. Not when they're together.   
  
George's breathing quiets down, finally slows from its prior agitated state. Nick brushes his fingertips across George's head again, feels the buzzed hair tickle his skin as he does so. Nick murmurs softly, "Baby, are you still awake?"   
  
George replies, his voice thick and heavy with the onset of sleep, "Mm I am. Are you?"   
  
Nick laughs, exhales a puff of air from his nose, sends a stray strand of his messy sandy brown hair away from the center of his face. He cradles George's head, holds him tenderly as he rests. George shifts under Nick's hands, adjusts his position so his head allows him to look at his boyfriend. Nick continues to stare at the ceiling, but he feels George's eyes on him, the way he watches with intense adoration, and Nick eventually has to pull his gaze away to look directly at his lover.   
  
George's sight meets his, eyes blown in the low light, but still beautiful as he remembers them. They're stuck between gray and blue, like a night sky right before a storm, but the shine in them reminds Nick of the sparkle of city lights and high rises. He could stare on forever, although the usual distinctive focus in George's eyes is murky with drowsiness and Nick knows how hard George is fighting off sleep just to talk to him.   
  
Nick gives George a soft smile, caresses George's skin with his thumb, whispers under his breath, "Do you miss home?"   
  
George's eyelashes flutter, eyelids heavy with exhaustion as he yawns, "San Francisco or New York?"   
  
Nick pauses, thinks for a moment before he answers, "Both."   
  
"No." George says bluntly as he shuts his eyes momentarily.   
  
"Neither of them?" Nick continues, curious.   
  
George's hand still traces circles on Nick's chest as he sleepily responds, "I don't miss them."   
  
Nick frowns slightly, "Why not?"   
  
"I can hear you frowning," George chuckles softly, voice lazy. He pauses, "I'd be missing an empty building. What's the point of being there if you're not with me?"   
  
Nick's heart skips a beat, stays silent and still while his fingers ghost over the soft skin of George's lower back. Nick can feel the buzz of George's voice when he speaks again, "I just left San Francisco, anyway."   
  
Nick whispers, "You have a whole tour ahead of you."   
  
George thinks about those words, thinks that maybe he _will_ miss SF. Maybe not tomorrow or the next day, but possibly later on. Or maybe he won't actually miss the city at all, but rather the sleepy moments on foggy mornings and being wrapped up in Nick's arms in their own bed. Maybe he'll miss NYC. He's not sure yet. It's possible he won't miss that city either, but rather their time together on the subway heading home too late on a chilly night. Just small moments where they get to spend time together.   
  
George sighs, curious to learn, "You have one behind you. Do you miss home?"   
  
George knows that although they split the idea of home between their two cities, Nick probably still prefers New York. George can see the longing in his eyes when they're at George's, can see the magic and wonder in them when they're back in Nick's cozy flat. George doesn't blame him if he _does_ miss NYC. Nick's fresh off a west coast run of shows and maybe all he wants is time back in the city he knows best.   
  
So it comes as a slight surprise to George when Nick murmurs, "I don't."   
  
"No?" George lifts his head to get a better look at his lover.   
  
Nick speaks slow and sweet, voice like honey, "I don't think it's possible for me to miss. I'm home right now."   
  
Tears well up in George's eyes, a knot forms in his throat, but he manages a soft, "I love you."   
  
Nick watches him with calm eyes, circles his thumb against George's temple, splays a warm hand open, slowly ghosts it higher up George's back. George relaxes at the touch, nearly allows it to lull him to sleep altogether.   
  
Nick speaks and it's smooth like silk, warm as late summer, and so intimate it makes George shiver, "I'm yours forever."   
  
George murmurs in reply, "Forever yours."


End file.
